


Sugar and Spice

by Beepun



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, First Meetings, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Holiday cookies, M/M, Married GMart, One Shot, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Slice of Life, holiday fic, it's a sappy holiday fic, pre JMG, season 1 fic, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:48:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28500210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beepun/pseuds/Beepun
Summary: Martin Blackwood is a kind soul with a talent for baking. That's what his co-workers believe. Jon just wants to do something nice for him, return the gesture for the treats Martin has given them.Things don't go according to plan.
Relationships: Gerard Keay & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	Sugar and Spice

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this one day, you can tell when the quality drops. but it was very fun to write. might come back to it later for fixing up, as of right now i am just very happy to write GMart and hinted JGM.

The holiday season is unreasonably busy for an institute that claims itself as a paragon of esoteric research. Jon doesn’t believe half the stories brought in told by a great aunt told to a cousin to a statement giver is anything reputable, yet he stays morning to the late hours of the night taking in statements with as curt a customer service voice as possible. He hadn’t realized just how many faces to face interactions with people his job would require of him, yet he was determined to do his job well.

It’s only a week before the holiday break. Jon is tired, tired of the people with their ridiculous stories, tired of the building, tired of his co-workers. No one is meant to be cooped up in an office with the same three people for so long, even if Jon wouldn’t know what to do with his free time. It’s just...ridiculous. That’s what it is. It’s monotony, it’s stillness. Jon has never been good at stillness. 

Maybe that is why he is so willing to let the sudden noise from his assistant’s bullpen draw him out of the stale comfort of his office. Where he would snap at them to get to work, opening his door to see Sasha and Tim surrounding Martin like excited children was a refreshing sight. 

“What’s going on here?” Jon asks, he sounds exhausted to his own ears. 

“Martin brought goods!” Tim announces, swirling around with a festive cardboard box in his hand. 

“These are  _ stunning _ ,” Sasha says, with her own box in her hands.

“Oh! Jon, here,” Martin stands, rounding the corner with another box in hand. “I’m not sure if you like cookies if I figure they can always get regifted-”

“Regifted!” Tim gasps, as though personally offended. “Bloody hell, regifted.”

“Martin, these are-Honestly I need to take a picture.” Sasha steps to her desk to pull out her phone and then heads towards the exit with an excited smile.

Looking through the clear plastic of his own festive box, Jon is surprised by the arrangement of cookies. There are a few shaped like wreaths, some decorated to look like stockings, birds, mittens. Jon has seen these sorts of cookies sold at a high price around the holidays, always too expensive to justify dropping money on one cookie. And yet the box was full of them.

They were always dry through. And Jon expects the same from these, no matter how gorgeous and detailed the icing is. 

“Oh, that’s a coffee chocolate hazelnut shortbread,” Martin says as Jon opens his box to pick up a dark wreath looking biscuit. 

“Sure.” He says, and then Tim makes a sound like a moan.

“Holy hell, Martin.” He says, and Jon very much wants to throw the employee rulebook open on the conduct page right into his face. “This is  _ perfect _ . I don't even like chocolate.”

“For real? But you like it right?” Martin perks up, moving away from Jon to get Tim’s opinion. 

“Martin, you cannot let this out of the archives. How will I get a chance with the institute's most eligible bachelor if this information gets out?” As Tim flirts, Jon takes a bite of his cookie. He doesn’t care for coffee, but the flavor is nicely balanced. It’s toasty, warm in a way that reminds him of Martin’s eyes. 

_ Well _ . He shakes his head. It is a bloody good cookie.

“W-Well!” Martin goes red and his voice goes up. “Um, actually I’m-”

“Holy shit everyone,” The door bangs open as Sasha rushes in to grab her coat from her desk before shoving her entire box under it. “Elias is on his heading in, hide your goods!”

“Shit!”

“Right-Uh, back to work everyone,” Jon says, holding his box close as he escapes to his office. He hides them in a rather empty filing cabinet and makes it to his seat before he hears Elias talking to his assistants. 

Right. Just a couple more days to go.

* * *

At the end of the week, Jon allows himself another cookie as he finishes gathering his things. It has been a cookie a day for him, a treat for doing good work. Sasha had finished hers after a day, sharing it with happy housemates. Tim ate one and decided to save them for the holiday. All equally valid reactions, given what a perfect treat they make. 

As Jon closes the office door, cookie box in his hands, he surveys the bullpen with a quick eye just to ensure everything is in order. That’s why he spots a wallet on the floor, a small thing in the shape of a frog that very clearly belongs to Martin. The cruel part of his mind wonders what a man in his thirties is doing with such a wallet, the other part of him takes in everything he knows about Martin - kind, shy, breathtakingly loyal with a stubborn streak to match his own - and it simply makes sense. Martin likes colors. For a man who keeps himself muted as possible, the things he surrounds himself with are loud and welcoming. 

Jon decides, as a thank you for the cookies, to return the wallet tomorrow. He’s pretty sure the building will be closed, and knowing Martin the man is sure to panic over finding it missing.

It’s a good plan, he decides. 

* * *

It is not a good plan, he decides, a little bitter that his attempt at doing a good deed could be such a bother.

Why,  _ why _ did Martin live so far away? Why did he live in such a convoluted spot, where it felt as though the spiral itself could have trouble finding anything without a bloody map? When Jon arrives at a townhouse, a modest thing in comparison to the surrounding buildings. Still. A townhouse is far from what Jon expected. Maybe a run-down flat in some dingy corner of the city, easily accessible and within tube distance. 

He’s a little bitter. 

Knocking on the door, Jon lets out a huff and waits. 

When the door cracks open, the man he was expecting -soft and kind, possibly a little confused to see him, but certainly sporting a bright smile upon seeing him - does not emerge. Instead, Jon looks up and feels that really, doing a kind thing should  _ not _ get him murdered by some angry goth.

“Uh…” He says smartly. 

“Do you need anything?” The man asks, voice curt and eyes like daggers. Eyes like daggers, he wears very sharp eyeliner and a red eyeshadow that fights with his blue eyes. The man wears black, silver chains hanging from his wrists and neck- and ears. Jon is...He hasn’t seen anyone dress with just a distaste for society since he was in a punk band in uni. Even then,  _ he _ didn’t wear leather pants.

Most striking of all, the man wears a black cotton apron, the sort that looks like it belongs on a smaller, softer, warmer person. Jon barely notes the eyes tattooed all over the man's joints, scattered along with his fingers and neck. His eyes are glued to the flour on his palms. 

“Uh….” Jon says, rather shocked. “Where’s Martin- I-I mean,” he backpedals, “Is-I’m. I’m looking for Martin Blackwood? He, uh, he lives around here...I think. I must have gotten the wrong house, sorry to disrupt your-”

“Hm,” The man glares at him, looking down at him in a way that says it’s not simply because of their height differences. Jon is just happy to be alive. He’ll feel offended by it later when his heart rate stops spiking. “You can wait inside.”

“Oh?” Jon draws out the sound, nervously looking around him. For what? Is-Martin living here then, with this man?  _ What _ . In response, the man's fist shoots out, or rather, his hand moves to push the door further  _ open _ . As clear an invitation as it gets. Right.

“Right,” Jon says, following the man inside. 

The house is...The exact opposite of what he expected. Death metal, pinups, possibly throwbacks to old 80’s horror slashers, or something of the sort made sense. 

Not. Not Martin. On the walls. On the sofa. On the coffee table. It looks like, well, if Jon had doubts Martin lived there before, he certainly doesn’t now. The style is somehow modern and vintage. A compromise made with a clear lean towards the nostalgic. On the walls hang abstract painting, explosions of color and emotion that make Jon dizzy to look at. He’s never been good with things like that. There are small sculptures dotted around the apartment, and photos hanging here and there. Over the fireplace, there’s some sort of bleached sculpture of hands being held. Scattered about, however, are odd little things. Bones and rocks - crystals - and plants. It’s...certainly a balance to maintain. 

“Sit.” The man says, motioning not to the comfortable looking couch, but to the small table in the kitchen. Jon goes, slipping into his seat as he looks around. Music plays, not death metal, but some old love song that Jon could imagine Martin slow dancing to. It’s sweet. It’s very, very, very strange to see this stark contrast walking in the kitchen. 

“Um…” Jon tries, then fails. What would Tim say? Or Sasha? It’s not that he’s incapable of small talk, but the long month has rather worn him out. He’s more at home sitting and listening, silently hoping for silence. Since the man doesn’t respond, Jon allows himself that silence. 

It goes on for a long while. 

Jon watches the man moving in the kitchen, easy as water in a river, hands moving trays moving cookies moving frosting. Then he looks around once more, mind trying to wrap around...all of this. Something in him aches, the knowledge that Martin isn’t so alone in a way Jon can understand. It makes him feel presumptuous. And then it makes him feel dirty, that he is jealous of this. That Martin has such a good friend, a kind home. 

“Are you...Did you learn how to bake from Martin?” Jon breaks the silence. 

“What?” After a prolonged moment, the man turns to Jon, a perfect eyebrow arched. Just then, the door opens and a flustered groan sounds out. “Oh fuck yeah,” and then the man snatches something from a cooling tray and rushes forward. 

Jon turns to watch as the man holds up a cookie to Martin’s lips and Martin all but turns his face away. 

“I’m not going to eat that, Gerry.” He sounds upset.

“Yes, you are.” The man - Gerry - says. 

Martin holds his glare at him all for a moment before he allows the man - Gerry - to hand feed him the cookie. It’s incredibly intimate and Jon very much wants to not be there. 

“Oh, oh love, that’s superb,” There’s the voice Jon knows, a soft sound that Martin uses in the office. It’s just a bit off. Not soft as in  _ don’t notice me _ , but soft as in home. Martin moves into the man’s - Gerry’s - space and presses a chaste kiss to his lips. Gerry smiles into it before jerking back, face flushed as he points to Jon.

“Guest.”

“Jon!” Martin blurts out, eyes bulging. He levels a glare at Gerry as the other man finishes off the cookie. “H-How long-uh-um. Why?”

Jon wants to know why too. This is mortifying and he cannot be certain as to why. 

“You left your wallet at work...um. Thought it best to return it.” 

Martin gasps as Jon drops the wallet onto the table, taking long strides to reach for it. He looks relieved, and when he smiles at Jon it could very well level him. “Thank you, Jon. You’re a lifesaver!”

“Take it that’s why you’re home empty-handed?” Gerry interrupts, and really it’s for the best because Jon could feel himself melt under that smile.

“Oh don’t be a bully,” Martin shoots back, and when Gerry enters the kitchen they move around each other with practiced ease. 

Hands touch elbows, ask for space with a gentle touch to the waist. 

Jon feels both like he is intruding upon the domesticity and as though he could allow himself to become dizzy with it. It’s a dangerous thought. 

“Well, that's all I came for,” Jon says, trying to excuse himself. Except Martin looks stricken at the thought and shakes his head.

“You must have come some ways, Jon. Do you at least want some tea before you go?” He offers. 

“Fuck, I always forget the tea,” Gerry grumbles. 

Martin laughs at that, but it’s a fond sort of laugh. His hand reaches to press at Gerry’s waist, moving him aside so that he has space to get tea started. Jon realizes the man is wearing paint-splattered doc martens. Martin has cozy slippers on his feet. What an odd pair they make. “That’s alright, love, no need to worry.” 

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.” Jon blurts because he’s a fool and he’s missed out on enough after-work bar nights to not know anything at all. Martin startles at that and Gerry raises his eyebrow again.

“Pu-Put that down,” Martin says, swiping at Gerry’s face. Gerry laughs, a warm thing compared to all his sharp lines. What is it about Martin Blackwood, his absolute ability to take something sharp, something that has determined to be vicious, and allows it to be just as soft as it might ever want to be? Then, he turns to Jon. “We uh, we aren’t dating.”

Gerry raises his hand. Among the many rings that decorate his finger, one gold band stands out. At the same time, Martin pulls a similar band from under his shirt. It dangles on an easy to miss chain. Jon very much wants to flee. 

“I-I am so sorry.” He says, mortified once more.

“Oh no, don’t be.” Martin huffs a laugh, “We haven’t been working together that long, and honestly you tell me what statement we’ve read would ever make you open up about-about anything.”

“Sasha’s the only one who knows, I think.” Gerry muses aloud. It’s Martin’s turn to look surprised. 

“What? How do you know Sasha?” 

“Oh, uh. She signed up to take a welding course.” Gerry says simply. “Unlike your line of work,  _ mine _ lets me go off about my beau whenever I want.” There’s a smirk plastered on his face as Martin flushes. 

“She never said anything?” Martin squeaks, and Jon is surprised too. Sasha has never been one to spread unnecessary gossip, but Martin being married doesn’t seem like a mean-hearted bit of information. Gentle teasing is a fine form of care between the three of them, from what he’s seen at least. 

“Listen. She knows about Italy.”

“ _ Gerard _ .”

“She literally asked me to tone it down because she was pretty sure I was talking about her sweet harmless co-worker and it was too much-”

“It is too much.” Martin turns to Jon. Then turns back to the tea. He returns with a mug in the shape of a dog. “Sorry about that, I- uh, I did try to mention it but Elias showed up. I just- it feels weird to announce to everyone ‘hey _ guess what, my husband is just that good at baking, that’s right I’ve been married this whole time _ ?’”

“Ashamed of me, he is” Gerry quips. Martin rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Been begging to meet his mates and this is the first time I’m seeing anyone.”

“Gerard Keay.” Something about the way Martin makes a face and avoids looking at Jon tells him that the institute itself is enough for shame.

“I uh. I suppose that does make sense.” Jon tries. Then, “Wait,  _ you’re _ not the baker? Wait, what happened in Italy?”

“Oh heavens no, I really am a one-trick pony. Tea’s all I know.” His smile is sweet. The way he pointedly ignores the second question does not go unnoticed. “Gerry bakes a lot, we had extra. I wanted to give you all a treat.”

“It’s certainly a treat,” Jon turns to Gerry, who looks pleased with himself. “Everyone in the office loved them. We even hid them from Elias, they were that good. Don’t think he even got a crumb.”

“Good,” Martin says proudly. When he turns back to Gerry, the way the two look at each other leaves Jon out of place once more. Overwhelmed. What does it do to someone, to be loved so wholly? Jon wonders what it would be like to be on the receiving end of that look. 

He drinks his tea and is given another two boxes of fresh cookies for his trouble. He can’t help look back, waves when he spots Martin watching him go. Martin returns the wave and from the distance, Jon can still make out the beaming smile aimed his way. He feels his own lips twitch into a wobbly smile. 

* * *

“He’s cute.” Gerry drapes himself over Martin’s back, kissing the skin behind his ear. He’s got his arms wrapped around Martin’s middle, basking in the warmth of his husband. Martin for his part looks lost in the bliss of being in his arms. His hands rest on Gerry’s arms, rubbing nonsense lines across his skin.

“He’s a very sweet man, honestly.”

“And a looker.”

“Handsome as hell, who needs eyebrows like that anyways?”

“Getting tired of me already?” Gerry teases. Martin turns, breaking his hold on him, and levels him with a look that has Gerry kissing him before words can form. 

“Oh, that’s not fair.” Martin laughs, pushing him away before pulling him back. “How could I ever get tired of you? You’re perfect.”

“Yeah I am,” Gerry wraps his arms around Martin’s neck, and when they’re flush together he allows Martin to sway him in time with the old love song playing on the radio. 

* * *

“No.” Tim lets out an exaggerated gasp. 

“Yes.” Jon nods.

“Jon.” Tim still looks shocked.

“Tim.” Jon groans. “He was-Listen. It's not Martin. It's a terrifying  _ goth _ that makes these cookies. He was-Martin! Martin, tell Tim your husband is scary!”

“He’s not scary, you’re a wimp if you think he’s scary.” Sasha laughs.

“Wait, wait-” Tim backpedals, scandalized hand on his chest. Martin gathers his mug and takes the cue to leave. Still, Tim shouts after him. “You’re  _ married? _ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Eventually, Gerry will ask Jon to hang out and shoot the shit, and Martin will also hang out with them. And then Jon will forget to leave because sometimes falling in love means realizing you’ve been there all along. Also, I’m assuming Martin didn’t tell everyone he’s married bcuz it’s a season one fic, and he probs doesn’t feel comfortable sharing anything abt himself. That one post abt Martin never sharing anything like who is this man? Gerry meanwhile, is very open abt his husband. Give it a break, gerry. But also...Love the idea that Martin would talk abt Gerry and Tim and Sasha play the “is that a roommate or a pet?” game and never figure it out.  
> (also, what happened in italy is simply sometimes people are cruel and Martin is big and strong and he’s got hands.)
> 
> Feel free to stop by and chat, im over on tumblr at beesabuzzin


End file.
